


So he does.

by space_caramel_kaspbrak



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Pennywise (IT), First Kiss, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-06
Updated: 2019-06-06
Packaged: 2020-04-11 12:57:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19110118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/space_caramel_kaspbrak/pseuds/space_caramel_kaspbrak
Summary: Richie has only just discovered that he's absolutely head over heels for his best friend. Now that his crush is glaringly obvious, things are getting harder and harder for him, and the pining is starting to get painful.Unfortunately, Eddie Kaspbrak is just as stubborn as Richie.





	So he does.

**Author's Note:**

> I've been sitting on this idea for months, and it's my first ever posted work, so please read with gentle eyes!

Eddie sits across from Richie at the diner, which is fine because Richie isn’t a clingy little baby that needs his best friend by his side at all times. In fact, it’s totally fine, until one of the Losers says something about Richie’s almost-flirting teasing show that he puts on for Eddie all the time, and he takes a moment to think about what thoughts just flashed through his head. He doesn’t do this often. _This_ meaning reflecting on a serious thought to come up with a serious answer for the serious problem.

Maybe he likes Eddie. He thinks he might, as scary as that sounds to him, but he isn’t really sure how to define like- especially since he’s almost positive that he’s never _like_ liked a boy before. _If liking boys is anything like liking girls_ , Richie thinks as they wait on their food, _then I must be taking like to a whole other level_. He knows he likes girls. But he doesn’t think he’s ever liked any girl as much as he likes Eddie, and he has only just discovered that he likes Eddie.

Maybe it’s just a… friendly kind of like. No, it’s more than that. Best friend kind of like? Eddie’s his best friend, Richie is sure of it. Eddie is just his best friend, and he just so happens to have beautiful gray eyes to match his wonderfully fiesty personality that fits like a puzzle piece with Richie’s own obnoxious, brash personality. _Yeah_ , Richie thinks, _that’s it_.

“Hello? Earth to Richie,” Bev says, and Richie snaps his head up at the sound of his name. His eyes are wide in surprise.

“Yeah? What is it?”

“Woah there, buddy. We thought you'd zoned out on us. You’ve been out of it for like five minutes,” she tells him, taking the ketchup bottle from Ben gingerly. Richie looks down in front of him. When had their food come out?

“Nah,” he insists, pushing his glasses up his nose, “Just thinkin’ about your mom.” Richie thinks he sees Eddie’s lips twitch up into an amused smile in the corner of his eye. He grins sheepishly into his drink just at the thought.

“Eat your dinner, Trashmouth,” Bev says playfully. So he does.

Richie jumps when he hears a knock on his window. Nobody ever knocks on his window. He tosses the comic book he’s reading onto the night stand beside his bed and rushes to the window to see who’s bothering him this time. He lets out a little laugh when he opens the window.

A green polo shirt and a pair of freckled eyes greet him.

“Hey. Long time no see,” Eddie says.

“We saw each other this morning, Eds,” Richie replies, and he’s positive that Eddie will yell at him not to call him that. He doesn’t. Richie steps back to let Eddie tumble inside.

“Well, y'know,” Eddie says, in a matter-of-fact tone. But Richie doesn’t know. He sits back down on his messy bed, and crosses his fingers together in his lap. Eddie follows him to sit at the foot of the bed silently.

“What’s up with you?”

“What do you mean?”

“Usually it’s me who’s climbing through your window,” Richie chuckles in a lame attempt at lightening the mood, “So there must be something wrong. What is it?” Eddie is quiet as he thinks over his next words. Richie starts to think he won’t answer.

“Can’t a guy just climb through his best friend’s window to see his best friend?” Richie thinks that sounds suspicious. A frown tugs at the corners of his lips but he tries to push it away. Eddie isn’t usually like this.

“Eddie,” Richie says, and even though all he said was his name, it almost sounds like an order. Eddie knows what he means. His smile disappears and he turns his head to look out Richie’s window. It’s dark out.

“My mom,” he finally says, swallowing the lump in his throat that feels ten times bigger than it actually is. Richie thinks he knows what Eddie will say next, but he lets Eddie tell him anyway because this is his moment. “It- it’s like I can’t breath when I’m around her. Not in the asthma way. She’s just so… pressuring and I feel like I’m always carrying her problems and worries and shit on my back. It’s suffocating.”

Richie doesn’t say anything witty, “Well, um, I can’t say that I know what you’re going through, but I’m here for you, y'know. All of us Losers are. But especially me. You know how much my mom loves you.” Eddie smiles shyly. Richie is sure that he sees a light blush the pretty pink color that is seen only in the most breathtaking of sunsets feathering over his freckled cheeks.

“Thanks.”

They sit in a familiar silence for a few minutes, until Richie speaks up. “Do you need anything? You can stay here tonight.” Richie stands up to take a blanket from his closet. Eddie already knows he can stay. Richie tells him that all the time.

“A hug would be nice.”

Richie doesn’t say anything, but he thinks the sudden burning red hue on his neck and cheeks speak for themselves. If he notices, Eddie does not mention it. Instead, he throws his arms out and Richie takes him in. It’s quiet again. For the first time in a very long time, Richie suddenly realizes that he’s nervous- almost afraid, even- to touch Eddie. He’d even managed to forget about his stupid crush on Eddie by force. However, those thoughts come rushing back when Eddie rubs his face against Richie’s chest in an attempt to get impossibly closer. It feels like his heart stopped.

“Tired, Eds?” Richie knows it isn’t very late- only a little past 8:30- but Eddie looks exhausted. All he hears in reply is a muffled ' _mhm_ ' so he bends down, with Eddie still latched onto his neck, to push the blankets on his bed away to make a spot for him. He lays Eddie down and intends to go sleep on the floor, but Eddie’s hands grab his wrists.

“I’m sorry,” he says immediately. Richie’s mouth drops open to make a reply, but he closes it again when he can’t think of anything to say. What could Eddie possibly be sorry for? “I shouldn’t dump my problems on you and then take your bed.” Richie shakes his head to shut the idea down quickly.

“Hey, hey, hey,” he coos, pushing Eddie’s hair out of his eyes, “Don’t worry about it. I promise it’s okay.” Eddie doesn’t look convinced, but he nods anyway. Richie lays down on the floor of his bedroom even though he isn’t the slightest bit tired yet. He’s used to staying up well past an average time for a good night’s rest.

“What’re you doing?” Eddie asks. His voice is just above a whisper, but it seems louder in the darkness of the room.

“…going to sleep?”

“You’re making me feel guilty.”

Richie is kind of confused. “As much as I’m sorry about that, I can’t really do anything about it.”

Neither of them says anything else, and Richie thinks that maybe Eddie just fell asleep. “Sleep up here,” he finally says, “please.” So he does.

When Richie wakes up in the morning, he’s surprised to see that, one, he is the first one awake, and two, that Eddie is curled into his side and his arm is thrown over his stomach. Richie’s heart flutters at the sight. He lays there for what feels like hours, but it also couldn’t possibly last long enough, as Eddie sleeps on. Richie just listens to him breath and to the birds chirping outside his window. He tries to distract his thoughts, but it’s hard for him to focus on not focusing when he can feel Eddie’s lips and Eddie’s nose and Eddie’s shoulder and Eddie’s whole _body_ pushed right up against his side. They’re only taking up half the bed like this. There’s plenty of room for Eddie to stretch out the other way.

Eddie squirms a little when Richie lifts an arm to rub his eyes and pushes his curls away from his forehead. He stops, and then moves around completely. Richie freezes and suddenly wonders what he did to deserve this. _Heaven or hell?_ he asks himself. Each of Eddie’s arms are on either side of Richie’s torso. One leg is tossed between Richie’s. His cheek is squished against Richie’s chest. Richie is positive that Eddie will wake up because his heart beat is so loud. It quiets all other noises as it fills up his ears like he’s drowning in the ocean. Eddie still sleeps.

When he does finally wake up, Richie’s forehead is sweating. Eddie’s eyelids peel open and he yawns. From the looks of things, Richie decides that this is in fact heaven. Eddie looks up at him with whiskey-colored, sleep-ridden eyes.

“Mornin’, sunshine,” Richie says. He grins at him. His glasses are no where to be seen. Eddie smiles back at him.

“G’morning,” he replies, and it sounds so peacefully sleepy. Sleepovers never used to be like this. They never used to look like this. They never used to feel like this. Richie never used to feel a buzz of electricity when Eddie’s skin touched his own. He never felt a warm, heavy feeling in the center of his chest when Eddie would laugh and his eyes crinkled at the edges and his smile bursting with happiness. Things never used to be this way.

“As cute as you look right now,“ Richie teases, ghosting his fingers over Eddie’s blushing cheek like he might pinch him, “I’ve had to take a piss for like an hour now.” Eddie scrambles up. He rubs his forehead and combs through his hair.

“Shit, I’m sorry, Richie,” and his voice is thick and sweet like honey, “I didn’t mean to sleep on you.” Richie’s already standing up and nearing the door.

“Don’t sweat it, Eds. You’re warm- like my own personal heater.”

He leaves the room, and goes to the bathroom. He thinks about brushing his teeth, but shoots the idea down out of laziness. When he opens the bathroom door and goes to turn off the light, he jumps when he sees his mother standing in front of him.

“Oh, h-hey, Mom,” Richie stutters.

“Good morning, Richie,” she says, “Who’s in your room?” She didn’t even look inside his room. Maggie knows her son all too well. She isn’t mad and she isn’t going to kick them out. Richie knows that. He’s just nervous to let Eddie’s name slip through his lips. Nervous to tell anyone that Eddie Kaspbrak slept in his room last night, laid in the same bed as him last night, let him curl into his side last night. He doesn’t know why. It’s just Eddie. _Just Eddie_ , Richie's mind mocks him, _it’s never just Eddie anymore._ He’s nervous because, deep down inside of him somewhere, he’s worried that someone will see right through him and know- they’ll just _know_ \- that there’s more to it than ‘just a sleepover’.

Maggie, however, is just curious.

“What?” Richie lies quickly, “There’s no one-”

“Richie, you and I both know that there’s someone else in your room,” Maggie tells him, and her voice is teasing and fond. She crosses her arms and gives a smile. “Who is it?”

Richie’s face is down. He is bashful. “It’s Eddie.”

“Ah, I see.”

“You see? See what?” Richie’s question is lost and forgotten as he follows Maggie to his bedroom door. They’re both quiet as they open the door just a little and peak inside. Eddie’s laid back down and his back is to Richie and Maggie. Maybe he went back to sleep.

“Hey, Rich.”

“Yeah, Mom?”

“Go make him some breakfast.”

“You think?”

“He’d love it, my dear.” So he does.

It’s nearing wintertime, and Derry High School is as frigid as ever. Richie doesn’t think he’s seen the school this cold before. Maybe it’s just him though; all he has on to protect himself from the cold is a thin zip-up hoodie. His class seems to be the coldest of the cold, but Richie thinks it’s just because it’s algebra, and algebra is a cold subject.

“Richie,” a whisper calls him. It scares him, and he suddenly feels nostalgia for a summer full of fright and violence- of love and togetherness- but one he has trouble remembering. Richie snaps his head in the direction from which his name was being called. _Eddie_. “Richie.”

“How’s it goin’, Eddie Spaghetti?” he greets, a little too loud for Eddie’s liking.

“Shh,” Eddie tells him, “Don’t get us in trouble.”

Richie rolls his eyes, “Is that what you wanted to say to me? To tell me to shut up?” Eddie burrows his chin and mouth in his wind breaker. He shakes his head.

“No, Rich,” he whispers. His cheeks are pink from the cold. Richie kind of wants to run his thumbs across them. Wants to warm them with his own calloused fingertips. “You looked a little spaced out. You okay?”

“Better than ever,” Richie assures him, but he knows that he has seen better days. Eddie lets it slide. He offers a smile instead.

“Come over tonight?” The words are so quiet and softly spoken that Richie can’t help but say yes. He nods, and opens his mouth to say something else.

“Tozier!” Both of the boys jump at the sudden yell and turn their heads to the front of the classroom.

“Yes, sir?” Richie answers, and he hopes his voice isn’t wavering.

“How many times this week have I told you to stop talking during instruction?” The teacher’s fingers are pinched around a short, white piece of chalk that he currently uses to point with.

_He’s always had it out for me_ , Richie thinks to himself.

“Uh-”

“Shut up.” So he does.

It’s been a few months since Richie’s incident at the diner, and he thinks he’s gaining courage. That idea is diminished when Stan comes to talk to him on a Saturday morning. Richie usually isn’t up nearly this early, but somehow he had managed to wake up at seven and couldn’t fall back asleep after that.

Stan is knocking on his front door at 8:30 when Went answers. Stan is polite and respectful, so he gives him a child-like, toothy grin that Went can’t help but to smile back at.

“Hey, Stan,” Went says, “What can I do for you?”

Stanley untucks his hands from his pockets and crosses his fingers, “I’m here to see Richie, sir. If he’s up yet, that is.”

Went lets out a chuckle, “You can go check on him.” And he steps aside to let Stan pass. Stan finds his way up the carpeted stairs and through the dimly lit hallway like he’s done a thousand times before. He reaches Richie’s bedroom door and raises a fist to knock. He can hear a radio playing.

“Yeah?” comes Richie reply. Stan lets another smile adorn his face.

“You decent or what, Trashmouth?”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Come in,” Richie says. He looks up from a magazine to see Stan standing in all his khaki pants and button up shirt glory on the other side of the room. Richie grins at him. “How’s it goin’?”

“I’m fine,” Stanley says, and he means it. His life is just fine. He takes a step towards Richie’s desk that’s cluttered with papers and pens and last week’s candy wrappers. His eyes trace the stained ring of a coffee mug that’s been left behind. “What does it take you to clean your room?”

“A lot,” Richie answers, and there’s humor in his voice. “There’s a method to my madness, I’ll have you know.”

“There can’t possibly be a method to… _this_ ,” Stan laughs. His arms return to his sides. Richie gives a wave of his hand.

“Nothing but a mere peasant, Stan the Man.” Richie watches as Stan picks up a dirty shirt that’s laying in his desk chair and tosses it to the floor so he can sit.

“I think we should talk,” Stan says, and his tone is much more serious. His expression is solemn, and Richie thinks that maybe Stan is going to tell him that a family member has died. Or worse, one of the _Losers_ has-

“Oh, c'mon, Stan! What are you? My therapist?”

“Richie, chill out. It’s nothing too serious,” Stan assures him. Richie scoffs and looks away.

“What is it then, Doctor Uris?”

Stan doesn’t get angry, and he isn’t the least bit agitated. He knows his best friend, and he knows that it’s agonizing for Richie to talk about how he really feels. So he decides to spare Richie the misery of beating around the bush and he gets straight to the point, “I’d like to talk about Eddie.” Richie rolls his eyes.

“Are we gossiping about our best friend behind his back now?”

“Um, no, that’s not what I was going for. I’ve noticed that you have been, um, _observing_ Eddie a lot recently,” Stan explains, being sure to watch all of Richie’s reaction carefully. The lighting is pretty shitty in here, but he’s almost certain there’s a blush on Richie’s cheek.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” Richie insists lowly, “And I have _not_ been _observing_ him.” Stan clears his throat.

“I know that you don’t want me to say it out loud. Don’t make me say it.”

Richie is quiet. Even his breathing is quiet. It’s so outlandish. Stan starts to think that it is better when Richie does talk, no matter how many times people tell him to shut up, because when he doesn’t talk, it’s unnerving.

“How’d you figure it out?” he asks at last. His eyes are wide and vulnerable. He can feel his heart beat in his ears. Stan’s expression softens.

“I’m observant,” he starts. Richie gives him a look that says ‘yeah, no shit’. “I just pay attention, even if I don’t mean to, so I’ve picked up on a few things here and there.” Richie nods.

“How long ago did you notice?”

“Not long. A week or two, maybe. I wanted to make sure before I started accusing you of anything.”

It’s quiet again. Stan has a million questions for him but can’t bring himself to ask. He is fearful.

“Does anyone else know?”

Stan shakes his head no.

“What about Eddie?”

“What _about_ Eddie?” Stan questions, raising an eyebrow. Richie fiddles with a bracelet on his wrist.

“Does he, like, know that I- how I-”

“I don’t think so,” Stan answers slowly. To be completely honest, he can’t really tell. Richie flirts with Eddie all the time, and Eddie flirts right back so _surely_ Richie knows that much. He does not.

“Oh,” is all Richie can say. He somehow manages to look simultaneously relieved and disappointed. Hesitant, too.

“Y'know,” Stan begins, and he clears his throat and wipes his hands on his thighs, “I think Eddie observes you too.” Richie’s head snaps up, and his glasses almost fly off of his head.

“What?” he asks, even though he clearly heard what Stan said, “No. No way, Staniel. He-”

“Give it up already, Rich. I’ve seen the way he looks at you. Heart eyes, man. You ever heard of ‘em?” Richie nods. He doesn’t believe it. It feels like he can’t possibly believe it.

So, Richie puts on a Voice. “Looks as if no good sir could resist my charm.” Stan wants to burst into laughter simply out of nerves, but he doesn't. Instead, he smiles. Richie’s Voices aren’t complete shit anymore, but they still need some work. Stan is starting to believe that Richie will get somewhere with those Voices someday.

Richie lets out a laugh, however, and it sounds forced. To him, it feels like a specific weight has been lifted from him. “So what do I do now?”

“Just observe. Watch Eddie. Look for the soft touches, or the lingering fingertips, or the gaze that sticks to your ugly face sometimes,” he jokes, but he is also serious. Richie grins. “Watch for his heart eyes.” So he does.

It’s sometime next week, and Richie is bouncing off the walls. He’s wound up tight like a ball of rubber bands. He hesitantly took Stan’s advice and decided to find out what he could. It wasn’t much, but it was still something. Richie is still doubtful.

He is a mess; jittering with anticipation for the next time he can see Eddie. He is like a druggie, and Eddie is his only fix.

Together, they sit side by side with their backs pressed to Richie’s bed. It’s just the two of them. Each of their laps houses a plastic bowl of ice cream. Or what is left of the ice cream.

Eddie’s laugh is quieting, and his smile is fading. The two of them are settling in a new found silence. Richie is still smiling, and he licks at his spoon. Eddie is thinking.

“Hey, Richie,” Eddie says.

“Hm?” he replies, his head down and looking at the bowl.

“Have you ever… wondered how things could be if you did something?”

“You mean like reflecting on what you’ve already done?”

“No, not exactly. I mean in the present tense. Like if I did something crazy right now, just because I wanted to see how it would turn out.”

Richie turns to look at him. “Yeah,” he says, watching Eddie’s face closely, “I do. All the time.” Eddie nods, and looks away. “Why do you ask?”

Eddie looks at him. _Heart eyes_ , Stan's voice taunts Richie's mind, _ever heard of 'em?_ Richie is almost certain he just saw Eddie’s eyes dip down to his lips. Almost. “Just curious,” Eddie answers. He’s quiet again, but only for a moment. “You’ve kissed someone before, haven’t you?”

Richie does a double take. “Yeah,” he tells him slowly, running his right thumb against his left palm, “Not often, though. And not recently, either.”

Eddie’s face is serious. Richie dares to think it’s also a little desperate and hopeful.

“You should try it again sometime. To see what it feels like all over again,” Eddie suggests. Richie wants to kiss _him_. Wants to try kissing _him_ to see what it feels like with _him_. He almost does. He decides against it because he doesn’t want to run Eddie off.

See what it feels like. Try it again sometime. Kiss someone sometime, just to see what it feels like all over again. So he does.

Over the next few days, Richie is quieter than usual around Eddie. It is strange for such a loud presence to be so hushed. Eddie feels himself get more and more desperate for the noise and carelessness that he once urged to be gone. It confuses him. Why does he miss Richie’s loud mouth? His stupid dirty jokes?

It’s Thursday night, and Eddie has made Richie promise to go over to his house and study with him. They have a test tomorrow in science class, and science is not the easiest subject for either of them. Eddie waits and waits, and then he waits some more until, finally, Richie comes along nearly twenty minutes later than what they agreed on.

“You’re late,” Eddie says as he blocks the doorway. He may be small, but he’s intimidating. Richie’s expression turns sheepish. He blushes.

“I know,” Richie says, raising his textbook, “I couldn’t find my book.” Richie actually had no trouble finding his book. He has simply been nervous. Eddie rolls his eyes, leaves it at that, and steps aside for Richie to enter. They make it to the bottom of the stairs before Sonia calls for Eddie. He looks up at Richie with an expression that he can’t quite place. Frightened, maybe? Surprised? Humiliated.

“Eddie-bear?” Her voice rings out like a bell. A bell that is all too knowing. Richie tries not to think about how terrifying her tone is.

“Yes, Ma?” Eddie replies, scampering away from the stairs and into the living room. Richie tries to keep his curious gaze away from Eddie's lower half. Tries to focus on something _other_ than the way that the span of Eddie's coffee creamer legs spill out from his little red shorts. His mother sits on the orange couch and looks at him with her dark, beady eyes.

“Tell me you’ll be careful,” she says. Eddie furrows his eyebrows. Richie’s suddenly as stiff as a board. He stays out of sight.

“What are you talking about? I’m only going to be in my room-”

“Just assure me,” Sonia insists, almost as if she were pleading to him, “that you’ll be careful. It’s difficult to be one hundred percent safe in today’s world.” Richie grows tense. She couldn’t possibly know, could she? “Especially with certain… _diseases_ that some boys carry.” Her voice turns to a hushed whisper at that, but Richie still hears it. He knows exactly what she’s talking about. He doesn’t know how, or why, or when, but he knows.

“Of course, Ma,” Eddie complies. It’s not like he understands what she’s blabbering about anyway. This will pacify her for now.

“Good,” she concludes, and Eddie has never ran from the living room faster. Richie is right behind him. He shuts the door quietly.

“Well that was weird.”

“You’re telling me,” Eddie agrees, flopping back onto his bed. Richie sits on the floor. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I’m your best friend. I don’t care,” Richie tells him. Richie has learned that sometimes, putting up with the friend that you are closest with and all the problems that come with them is worth it simply because you love them so much. Richie loves Eddie very much- romantic or not.

Richie is watching him. Eddie can feel the burn and sting of Richie’s gaze following him. He doesn’t mind it. Eddie doesn’t reply, and Richie starts to worry that he’s said the wrong thing.

It is quiet between them for several, long minutes. It’s unbearably quiet as Eddie reads from his science textbook and Richie pretends to study. The silence is like the cold winds of a blizzard and it’s just too frigid to even step outside, even for a moment.

“I’ve been thinking about what you said the other day,” Richie finally says in a tender voice. Eddie sits up to look at him. His hair is ruffled.

“What about it?” Eddie asks, which makes Richie grow even more nervous.

“It’s just that, um, I think you might be on to something with that.” Richie’s eyes are as wide as saucers and he is avoiding Eddie’s gaze. Eddie just looks at him.

He thinks about what to say for a moment, “What makes you say that?”

Richie’s mouth pops open before he can tell himself not to say anything. He looks at Eddie like he’s been caught with something. “I want to try it again but with you. I want to see how it feels with _you_ ,” he tells him, his voice tense and quick.

“Wait, Richie, I don’t think I understand-”

“ _Kiss_ me, Eddie. I want you to kiss me.”

“Oh,” Eddie says, even though he is still kind of lost.

“Yeah,” Richie confirms, looking down and letting all the air inside of his withered lungs out through his nose, “ _Oh_.” He looks deflated. Eddie raises his head to see that Richie is looking a sad kind of helpless. _Way to fucking go, Trashmouth. You really screwed it up this time, Bucky Beaver._

For the first time in what feels like forever, Richie is speechless. His mind is racing, and for once he thinks that saying anything else could only worsen his horribly sticky situation. Eddie just looks at him. He studies him. Studies him in a way that makes Eddie wonder how no one could have studied him like this before. He inhales sharply, and Richie is certain that this is the end of everything that he has ever loved.

“Rich…” Eddie cooes, ever-so-softly. He hesitantly looks up at Eddie. His eyes are nervous and wide. He whispers something of a 'yeah’ in a skittish voice. Eddie slides off of his bed and sits down in Richie’s lap.

“Eddie, what’re you-”

He presses his lips to Richie’s. Richie is frozen with shock at first, but he settles into this sweet kiss of pining and desire after a moment. He curls his left hand into Eddie’s hair and presses his right into the small of Eddie’s back. Richie can confidently say that he has never been kissed like this ever before. And he never wants to be kissed any other way.

Because Eddie’s persistent in coaxing Richie’s mouth open. Because he’s got his hands knotted up against his back like he never wants to let go. Because he’s kissing Richie like he really means it. Because he makes a quiet little gasping sound and it vibrates through the back of Richie’s throat. Because, _wow_ , Eddie is really sitting in his lap and kissing him.

Because it’s _Eddie_.

When he finally breaks this comforting kiss, he breathes heavily. Eddie does not leave. He rests his forehead against Richie’s shoulder. Richie’s eyes are screwed shut. His breathing is uneven and his fist is clenched into Eddie’s shirt.

“Hey,” Eddie whispers, and Richie eases just at the sound of his voice, “That was good. It’s okay. You don't have to be nervous.”

Richie gives an anxious smile. "How could I not be nervous?" he asks. He feels breathless, and that the only possible way that he could fill his lungs with fresh air ever again is by kissing Eddie Kaspbrak. How did he ever breath before this? "You're _beautiful_."

Eddie raises his head and traces a finger along Richie's neck. His face is blushing mess. "Thank you," he says, smiling shyly. Richie smiles too, and buries his face in Eddie's neck. He doesn't think that things could be better. "Kiss me again?" Eddie offers, and Richie changes his mind. Things _could_ be better. Things are better when he is kissing Eddie Kaspbrak.

_Kiss me again._

So he does.


End file.
